47. Trousers

I put my heart in your hands and asked you to be delicate but you rung it dry and threw it for trash, wiping your hands clean on your trousers like it was nothing more than crumbs left over from a packet of crisps. But those crumbs clung to the small fibres of your trousers and you wear them everywhere you go, part of me is still with you. You wear me there on your trousers for everyone to see, I bet they frown upon you for wearing me on your trousers. Really it looks bad on you not me cause I always kept you in my pocket, close to my heart and it's easy to dispose of something in a pocket; there it is temporary. But I've been woven into your trousers.